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"It is ... 'Hitler or hell.'"
-- Savitri Devi
One wonders about White women who mate with monkey-men in man-pants. Not
only that, but one wonders about monkey-men in man-pants who (try to)
mate with Aryan men (not referring to coffee: "Hey, you want to
feel something warm and black inside of you?"). What is the
beguiling source of content? One sees half-ape children mouthing off
when they do not get royal treatment from their mixed-coupled elders.
One sees "must-have" spoiled brats with skin the color of sin
mouthing off when a decent White man tries to flush them down the toilet
where they so obviously belong. What is worse: to get a hamburger at
BURGER KING one needs to stand in line for way too muthafuckin' long
because all the servers are whale-shaped fat (with kinky hair bizarrely
braided) monkey-women in woman-skirts.
Now, the point seems clear: The Confederate States of America are dead
and buried, long ago, relegated to the dust collected in the pages of
books belonging to retro-haters and people who like to wear funny
outfits and mockingly shoot each other at so-called "War Between
The States" re-enactment events. A man in a grey rebel suit,
dancing with a beautiful Southern Belle (now all decked out in an
antique ante-bellum dress), is a sight that many may long for in their
respective redneck bars and hillbilly clubs, but let's face it, my Dixie
brothers and sisters: Hate comes in all guises, not the least is PRIDE!
Say it and pray it, o Son of Robert E. Lee and Edgar Allan Poe: The
South will rise and swell in your whisky well! The Might of the South
will come back when your sons are high on crack!
Naturally, one could blabber on endlessly about the seemingly defunct
nature of Nature itself! Why, one might ponder while drinking some
home-brewed Met, does the only goal consist of striving for the eternal
resurrection of the endlessly elongated strip mall? Where is the hope
and joy in buying yet another toy?
For the love of Evil, a pale rider on a white horse: After all, did not
his adherents scorn the "Common" Law, in a strict sense of the
word? Lamenting all the way from Laredo to Dallas, "Chosen people,
our people, my people BAD!" Imposing himself on other cultures,
deriving pleasure from black cocks, eating burgers jacking off, to go
and get there all the same! Where's the way that pinpoints pleasure? On
top of a tower, a big tower, a very very big tower, a Babelian tower,
linguistically confused but still blabbering the jewdy doody talk
learned straight from Big Horse Mouth - "bald, BAD and bold"!
Unworthy of racial privileges, the cowboy beats a stick. And tired of
routine, he settles in an abandoned teepee, forgetful of the savage
ransom... Centuries of decadence will not make the cowboy learn basic
principles of standing up! The negation of ancestral ideas makes blind
the ones that see destruction...
The now utterly defunct - and in the past traitorous - Anglo-Saxon
community likes to snivel the crusty-dusty anus of the (once
desert-dwelling) hook-nosed world community, beneficial to monkey-men
for sure, and even the Yellow God smiles in favor (all enveloped in a
wet fart cloud of superiority), slant-eyes beaming nuclear... The Waffen-SS,
sensitive soldiers ready to prey on the pasty-faced, harvesting their
blood brothers' souls - molding them into (finally!) something worth
remembering for... A Final Call! A Final Doom! All the same name
game: "democracy, friendship, love..." A tank blast to the
hilt will shut the dumb bitch down. "They hate us for our
freedom." Ha! Ha!
stone of wisdom
asking questions
(not too wise)
in silence
Russia, England, France. Why be surprised that they now all look
askance? Too late for Stalin to conquer, for Churchill to lie and the SS
Charlemagne to save (the Capital, the Reich)... The blind man asks his
non-existent wife (long departed for the long trek back), "But is
there time, my dear?" There is time (plenty of time) to sip Earl
Gray tea and eat dry and dusty biscuits.
- Constantin von Hoffmeister
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